Not Broken, Just Bent
by TomBoy29
Summary: "How do you know when it's over?" "...maybe when you feel more in love with the memories than with the person standing in front of you, Killian."


It's been years since I've written anything. Hope you guys can go easy on me. Also I am not a therapist nor do I go to one, but I'm doing a lot of research on the topic for this story. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT.

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An anechoic chamber.

It is designed to completely absorb reflections of sound and electromagnetic waves. The pure silence is deafening. It's a silence that would cause anyone to go downright insane given enough time.

That's how the room felt like for Killian. An anechoic chamber. Well, almost.

The only sound stopping him from going mad while waiting was the giant grandfather clock's pendulum ticking. He wanted to question why there was such an antique in a doctor's office full of new furniture and white walls but, really, who was he to judge another person's interest. He was here because he had few interesting ones himself.

At first, he had found the clock to be rather annoying and wanted to throw it out the fourth story window, although it was doubtful he even had the strength too. But after a while it calmed him in a strange way, relaxing him as he patiently waited for the doctor to see him.

Maybe that was the point of it, to calm patients. The thought of calling himself a patient left a bad taste in his mouth. He really didn't need to be here. It was an unnecessary precaution on their part. Besides the one incident, Killian's record wasn't that bad. Sure, there were small things here and there but that should be expected from a man who had been an orphaned teenage boy. Out of all the times where this could have been useful, they decided _now_ is the best time to throw him into this.

Not like his friends came to his rescue much either. They all were for this, saying ' _It'll help Killian, just watch'_ , _'We're all here for you'_ , ' _Stop being a child'_ and his favorite, ' _Everything happens for a reason'._

God, he was sick of hearing that one. Sure, things happen for a reason but half the goddamn time a person didn't even know what the reason was.

He had been waiting in the room for quite some time and slowly, against his wishes, his mind was beginning to play out unbelievable scenarios of either embarrassment or disappointment. Mainly the former.

 _Alright Jones, it's fine. Just relax, it'll be all over soon then you can go on your merry way without them harassing you about all this bloody stuff._

He turned towards the double door, the only thing separating him from freedom. As another round of unrealistic possibilities popped up in his head, he started to rise from his seat from the massive freight of anxiety dumped on him like cold water.

 _This was a mistake. I don't need this. I'll just look downright idiotic for coming here, to have a woman I don't even know bombard me with questions that aren't her business._ He finally convinced himself to head to the door. But once his hand grabbed the door knob with the utmost confidence in himself, he could hear voices from the other side of the door from across the room. The doctors coming.

Quickly he tried opening the door, but as he repeatedly kept turning the knob it wouldn't budge. _What the…_ _?_ _Did they lock me in?_

"You use the right side; the left is sadly just for show." A soft voice chuckled behind him.

Killian stilled immediately. Would anyone believe him if he told them this was one of the many embarrassing scenarios that played in his head?

He turned to see the woman he would be spending every Monday and Thursday with for the next seven months.

She was a petite brunette and there was something about her smile that made him feel a small sense of comfort. The doctor stepped aside from her back door, which he hadn't noticed before, in an inviting manner, "I do believe it's time for your session."

Killian slowly let go of the knob, defeat swept over him as he let out an inaudible sigh and walked back towards the office. All the while, each step getting heavier and heavier.

It had been about two minutes and forty-four seconds of silence since they had both entered the room. The place screamed of a therapist's office.

Therapist. Killian had finally brought himself to admit what this really was. Calling Belle French a doctor was stretching it, despite the doctorate diploma hanging on her wall. She was a shrink, someone people told their petty problems to for $200 dollars an hour. Yet, for the next several months, Dr. French would be his doctor, his…therapist.

Swallowing the fact that he was going to be seeing a therapist for the next several months, against his will if he might add, was not something he was taking lightly. So, instead of doing what he came here to do, he looked around the office with his hands laying on this lap, intent on pushing off the beginning of the session.

There were many frames scattered and hung on the walls. Some were obviously of her accomplishments, of her diplomas at universities and other programs. Others looked like quotes from motivational speeches, nothing too stereotypical or cheesy but nothing to really impact a person's views or give away too much information.

Continuing to sweep his eyes around the room before they started, what really stood out was the massive book case that displayed behind her desk. There was a variety of books, ranging from texts on ccommunication, Aristotle's _Ethics_ , an anthology of Thoreau's essays, and the Principle of Psychology. He moved forward a bit to even see what looked like a battered copy of _Peter_ Pan. He was sure there was much more but that was all he could see without shifting his position to make it obvious he was looking. Killian made note of how the woman might have an OCD problem with how everything on her desk was symmetrical to each other. After his survey of the room, he had no choice but have his eyes settle back on Dr. French. She had decided to sit in the love seat right in front of him, and was now looking at him with a small smile and notebook and pen in hand.

He held her gaze for a moment before she asked, "Are you a reader?"

He raised a brow, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. "Sorry, love, can you repeat that?"

Her smile widened. "I saw you looking at the books, wondered if you enjoyed reading as much as I do." After a beat she added in a firm voice, "And I prefer being called Dr. French or Belle. Unfortunately, 'love' isn't quite the appropriate way to address your therapist."

"Well, then no, _Dr, French_ , I do not enjoy reading." He bit out, after trying, and failing, to not sound sardonic. "And aren't you supposed to be asking me about my deep down feelings? Not what I do in my spare time."

At this, Dr. French tilted her head. "You would be surprised, Mr. Jones, as to what a person does in their free time can reveal about their character." After a few moments in which Killian chose not to respond, she asked with the same friendliness she'd used the entire conversation, "So, how _are_ you doing today, Killian?"

He couldn't help but snort a bit at the question, "That's how we're going start this, love?"

"Dr. French or Belle." She corrected, but then asked in confusion, "You're reacting as if I have offended you, Mr. Jones."

"Killian." He said quietly. Hearing Mr. Jones made him feel too old.

Belle nodded, "Alright _Killian_ …What do you mean by "that's how we're going start this"?"

Killian anxiously tapped his fingers on his leg; this wasn't one of the scenarios he thought might happen. _You shouldn't take it out on her mate, the poor women is just doing her job. It's probably just as awkward for her that you're sorry arse is acting like a child._

Sad to say, Killian's conscious wasn't loud enough for him to hear as he continued his childish attitude. He dramatically waved his arm around as if displaying the air, "All these "sessions", air-quoting the word with his fingers, "that's how it works? Ask me how my day is going and what not? Seeing how I _really_ feel inside. If there is a deeper meaning behind every damn word I have to say?"

The whole time he spoke, Dr. French had a half smile on, seemingly to let him blow off some steam about the whole situation. That had to be the reason otherwise the woman would have probably thrown him out by now. He could tell this wasn't her first rodeo. Many patients probably acted the way Killian was. No one liked to admit that they needed therapy, people branded it for individuals that were mentally weak or crazy. Sure, it can be helpful with people that have gone through something traumatic, but someone out there needed this time more than he did. He didn't need a therapist. What he needed was to get the hell out of there.

Dr. French waited a few moments to see if he was done and then started to jot down a few notes.

Killian lifted his head up a bit to see what she was writing, "What are you doing?"

She wrote a few more scribbles down, placed the notebook on the table and folded her hands on her lap.

Killian looked cautiously at her. _Does she think she can intimidate me?_ Subconsciously, he did the same thing slowly, eyeing her the whole time.

He saw her bite on her lip a little to avoid from laughing. "Well, _Killian_. To answer your question that is how most people start off conversations. You know, asking how the other person is doing. It was simply an act of kindness and curiosity to lift up this awkward tension you have by being here."

Killian continued to sit there, the look of suspicion staying on his face.

"No hidden agenda whatsoever." Dr. French added and quickly got up and grabbed a manila folder, grazing through it. "It says here that the judge gave you 7 months with me."

"Ay, he did." Would have been more if Robin hadn't been there to stop him from cursing out at the man for his unreasonable sentence. Even though Killian knew he should have been grateful that they didn't just throw him in the slammer straight away. If it wasn't for Robin's fiancé help, his sorry arse for sure would have gotten a stricter judge.

"And you have one hundred and thirty two hours of community service?" She continued.

"Listen love, I don't need to be reminded of something I already know. It's not hard to forget what a bloody judge tells you what you have to do in order to avoid jail."

" _Dr. French_ ," She quickly reminded him as she continued, "it's something I have to go over with you Killian, before we start." She sat back down, not lifting her head from the folder.

"Or maybe you forgot to go over my file and using this as a cover up, not very professional, Dr. French." He said with a wolfish grin plastered on his face.

"You may call me Belle if you're comfortable with it, Killian." Unaffected by his taunting.

His grin dropped just as quick as it appeared.

She pulled out a couple of photos that had been paper clipped to his file. One by one she placed them right in front of him. Killian wasn't feeling amused anymore, slowly his hands balled up into fists. _Breathe Jones…._

"I think you do need to be reminded why you're really here, Killian." Each picture held gruesome images. A man that was bloody all over his face; each side baring a massive black eye and the face covered with cuts and bruises. No one, not even the poor bastard's mother, could recognize him. Thankfully, the man didn't die but he sure as hell wasn't going to see for awhile and most likely have a nasty headache for a couple of months.

Seeing the images again of that man made Killian sick to the stomach. Ever since that night…he can only remember fragments, flashes that come and go. _Breathe._ He couldn't look at them anymore. "Put those away."

Belle's face held no emotion. Now, their session had started. "Tell me why you believe you don't need this when clearly," She points at one of the pictures, "you really do."

"It was a slip up."

"This wasn't a slip up Killian, now I'm going to ask again. Why do you believe you do not require my help?" Belle pushed.

"I don't need your help." Killian spat.

"Why. Are. You. Here?"

He glared at her, not saying anything.

Belle leaned forward, showing him a kinder face, "You're afraid to talk…afraid to reveal yourself." That caught his attention.

The tension in his body loosened and the words barely escaped his lips, "What did you say?"

Her small smile returned, "Its okay to be afraid, it's something we all go through. Now, allowing ourselves to be consumed by it, that all depends on the person."

For Killian, he wasn't seeing Belle anymore, but someone different. Someone else had said almost the same thing. So many years ago. "And how love, do you overcome _your_ fear?"

"Trust."

He could feel that pull in his chest again, the memories crept into his mind; daring him to indulge in them.

 _"_ _You can trust me Killian, you don't have to be afraid anymore."_

 _"_ _Aye, darling…but why should I trust you if you don't trust me?"_

Then…he saw that smile.

 _"_ _You said I didn't trust you…love" the voice said mockingly._

"Killian?"

He blinked a couple of times, the image of Belle in front of him replaced the memory. "Yes?" Trying to hide the sadness in his tone.

Belle hesitated for a second, "Can you tell me why you're here?"

He knew the answer to that, as much as he denies it. He knew. _Guess there's no getting out of this one_.

Killian took a deep breath, glanced toward the pictures one last time and relaxed. At first, he didn't say anything when he heard Belle pick up her notepad and pen once again. Ready for him to start.

"Yes…I do need to be here." He was looking at her solemnly.

Dr. French nodded, seemingly encouraged by his admittance, but pressed. "But why, Killian?"

A dry chuckle was his first answer but she didn't say anything, just waited.

Anxiously he scratched his head, wanting to avoid all of this, but if he did they'd send him to the big house. So, there was no other choice for him.

"I'm here because I beat a man nearly to death."

"Because?"

He really didn't want to do this, "Because I'm an alcoholic that suffers from anger issues."

Hearing himself say this out loud made him feel like complete shit.

"When did all of this occur?" Belle had her pen ready.

He couldn't help but give that dry chuckle again, "Where do you wanna start?"

Belle looked at him with something that he hasn't seen in a while, "At the beginning."

Hope.

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Thanks for reading, reviewing or favorite would be greatly appreciated!


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